


Some Turn to Dust or to Gold (but you will remember me)

by tukimecca



Category: World Trigger
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort/Angst, Eventual Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Sickfic, can i tag this as, what else can i write jinmiwa in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 02:28:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8185726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tukimecca/pseuds/tukimecca
Summary: It’s been three years and autumn has starts claiming its territory. It’s fall, and with fall, the sun sets faster, long day will soon be long gone, but before the sun starts to cease monopolizing the wide canvas that is sky, there will be Shuuji’s birthday.“Seventeen years old, huh,” the brunette muses, a fond smile paints his face without his permission. How rude.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, dear, precious, soft cookies, Miwa Shuuji! God, it took three days to finish this fic. What I originally intended to be a work that can be finished in two days, ended up into this monster of 16k because it just continued to write itself. Which I think is good? Since I've been suffering with horrible writer-block lately.
> 
> I meant to write happier pieces, companion piece to the 'coffee shop AU series' but I wasn't really feeling it. And since my [last jinmiwa fic was a chokeful of angst](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6929728), I feel compelled to write another one. I know a birthday fic is not supposed to be depressing like this, but it is virtually impossible to not write ANGSTY AF jinmiwa, unless I made them OOC (which was what I did in the coffee shop AU, whoops).
> 
> Overall, I'm satisfied with this one. Honestly not as much as the previous one, but I still like it nonetheless for I could finally wrote about my jinmiwa past-headcanon ;)
> 
> Title is from Fall Out Boy - Centuries

:::

 _“And this is supposed to match the darkness that you felt,_  
I never meant for you to fix yourself  
And just one mistake is all it will take, We’ll go down in history.  
Remember me for centuries”

_Fall Out Boy - Centuries_

:::

Jin remembers the almost-glacial rain that beats down his already weary shoulders, it’s as if they’re asking him to stop; it’s as if they’re pleading him, a desperate plea for a break of his relentless steps. But his feet are just as vindictive as the torrential rain, so, Jin sees no reason to stop.

Not when he has a boy, no more older than thirteen, who deserves his compliance more than the unfeeling downpour.

Jin finds him then, beaten down on his knees, hair jet-black like his soaking uniform stark contrast against his fair almost colorless skin. And in the midst of those bleak, monochromatic spectrum is his eyes; twilight raging in helpless despair captivated within a pair of glassy orbs. Burning in pain; shining in fear. Scorching, blistering on Jin’s own cool blue eyes. Those eyes too, are raining. Roaring fall of grief. Sorrow of losing, of once having something and has it taken away, only to be not returned. Like dusk turns into nightfall, those once blazing eyes are now dark in misery.

What a contrast, Jin thinks as he assesses the situation. He finally acknowledges the body in those all-too-frail hands; already cold, unmoving. Dead. Gone forever. Beyond the grasp of those undependable fingers. Loss he already counted.

Cost Jin is willing to pay.

The rain only falls harder, this time in reproach, at how unfeeling Jin has become; at how heartless he has voluntarily lets himself be. Briefly he wonders when was the last time he ever mourned over a loss, was it Mogami-san? Was it someone before or after him? And even now when he’s faced with another loss, and knowing he is losing someone else dear to him consecutively, Jin hardly feels anything.

How cruel, the rain spites at him. How unkind.

But Jin does not survive fifteen years by being merciful. He manages to come this far by being unforgiving, more on himself than on anyone else. Had he not be this punishing he won’t be able to be here, right now standing behind the boy who will give him, as fleeting as it is, moment of true happiness. Days filled with heartfelt delight and utter contentment. It won’t last long, but Jin knows, Jin _sees_ , this boy is _worth_ it. So, he lets himself stop feeling at anyone – for anything but this boy, whose cry of heart is louder than his actual plea of help

And the rain that falls harder makes Jin think of how the true wonder of the world is nature itself. That even if the rain doesn’t actually get soaked inside the skin; it still makes you feel cold. It might not permeate in, but it might as well be as if your pores are opening up to drink the icy droplets with the way they chill you down to your bone, deep to your marrow.

And is now that heart of the boy cold? Or is it hot? Jin finds – or rather; he’d like to believe – that the answer is both.

The boy’s heart must be so cold, from the heartless torrential rain, from the ache of losing. Jin had lost once and he knows how pain that is so stubbornly incessant can eventually numb you down, make you unfeeling, like they’re leaving a part of you to freeze over. But pain is also heart-searing; fire-hot and solar-bright. Unforgiving singe inside your skin, threatening to boil and eventually rupturing your skin open.

It is mind-blowing how something that so cold can be so hot; it is amazing how something that should be the anathema of another can coexist at the same time. Later, Jin would find that it’s exactly how one would define their relationship, but for now, Jin can only wonder. In the same way the boy’s heart is so hot with agony that it freezes over, Jin’s very own heart is numb with how many emotion he feels at the same time – grateful, sad, content, frantic, overjoyed, anxious.  They overwhelm him, more intimidating than the seemingly endless rain, but nothing more devastating than the grieving boy in front of him.

Jin steps down from the rubble he’s standing on, closing the scornful distance between them in sure yet secretly insecure steps. The boy stops crying, but his eyes are falling harder than rain around them. His lips are half-opened, as if stopped in the middle of its prayer, and he looks up at Jin with hope, shining as stark-bright as the anguish that his body radiates.

If by kneeling down, Jin can see from the same level this boy does, if by kneeling down, Jin can actually feel his bone-wrenching misery, then kneel forever he would. But Jin knows to be understood is not what the boy desired. To be sympathized is the last thing this boy wanted. To be given hope, a beacon for his weeping soul is what he seeks.

And Jin offers none, nothing but his hand, accepting and open, waiting, to be claimed, to be taken. To be trusted.

Then Jin smiles, sad and tired. Accepting and long-suffering. And as worldess as his smile is his eyes; shaded blue like autumn sky with clouds all rolling in. The boy meets Jin’s gaze with his own sundown-eyes, dreaded realization dawning in. Jin thinks of years to come – Jin thinks of _days_ to come, when there will be more of wordless conversation like this, when they manage to get their feeling across with nothing more than simple exchange of glance or kitten-shy touch of skin.

Jin thinks of them, commit them to his memory – to his arctic-frozen heart that will welcome its short-lived spring, and eventually reaches out to the boy. Actually touching his pallid skin with Jin’s slightly tanned once. He clasps his fingers around the boy’s shoulders, still smiling down, and this time, he lets his voice be heard, “let’s go home.”

Because Jin knows, there are so many scenarios, and in ones where he picks silence, even the steady grasp on the boy’s whole body won’t stop him from slipping away from between the open cracks of Jin’s fingers.

In the boy’s eyes are flash of recognition, like zap of lightning. And maybe is his ears echo a thunderclap, so loud and deafening. A painful zing that leaves unsettling feeling in your stomach and toes curling in. In Jin’s heart is a bomb ticking off, counting until it runs out of time.

Once the number hits zero, the boy crumbles and Jin has to watch, as he feels his own heart disintegrate along – pretty much a horrible scene of a blast. Jin can almost hear the boy’s heart falls apart with loud, unpleasant cracks. Tall glass collapsing into million silver pieces, never to be put up together as a whole again, because when a glass is broken, there’s bound to be a part missing.

In a way, Jin has experienced it. In a way, Jin knows how it feels. In a way, Jin understands. Even if that’s not what the boy needs for now, that happens to be one of few thing that Jin can give him. And another thing he can give the boy right now is hug, because even if it might not be what he wants right now, Jin knows how staggeringly comforting hug, or any human contact in general, can be when you’re feeling lost and broken.

“Let’s go home,” Jin repeats, wrapping his arms around the boy’s horribly-shaking body. He tucks his head on his shoulder, burrowing in the last-remaining of his damp-skin’s body heat. Inhaling him in vain hope that even if the boy dissolves into thin, unattainable mist, Jin still has a little of him left with him. He smells like rain, a faint trace of cinnamon and vanilla. He smells like heartbreak and days enriched by sun before the dark clouds take reign over his brilliant sky.

Between them is his sister’s dead body. And it serves as Jin’s reminder of how cruel and unfair he is. How heartless. How dirty. How immorally selfish he is for daring to declare the boy as ‘his’, albeit in very short amount of time, in the future.

When Jin says, “let’s go home,” for the third time, he doubts he even mean it.

For instead of taking this boy back to where he belongs, he wants to take him in all for himself, somewhere far away, somewhere unreachable.

And hopes that there, nobody will let any of them experience such unforgiving loss anymore.

:::

Jin learns the boy’s name is Miwa Shuuji.

Jin learns that Miwa Shuuji will refuse to speak to anyone but him, but that, too, will have to wait until his parent pay him a visit and request Border to erase Miwa’s memory.

Miwa vehemently refuses, as vehement as he could be without actually using his voice. But his parent is just as insistence, and only when the Border’s agents start closing in, Miwa lets the iron-gate over his throat open. He screams, yells;  he thrashes around, and when one of them eventually get firm grip on his limbs, Miwa cries out.

And Jin is surprised – shamelessly pleasantly so – that it is his name that leaves Miwa’s lips right after word ‘help’.

Jin, who has been hovering around the door of Miwa’s room and had only interacted with him once by introducing himself after Miwa first opened his eyes, breaks in like Moses crossing the red sea. The Agents part ways, giving him way in reverent way they always treat Jin with.

He places his hands on Miwa’s shoulders and the way tension rolls off Miwa’s shoulder like rich, velvety cloak is staggering. To know his presence has such commandeering effect on the boy is enthralling. Miwa’s shoulders roll back as smooth as his skin under Jin’s fingertips – cold yet scalding at the same time. Jin presses his thumbs right on his collarbones, and Miwa’s fingers are suddenly fastened on his jacket, grasping like Jin is the only thing that keeps him from falling.

Not too far off the truth, Jin distractedly thinks – distracted because Miwa is suddenly burying his head in Jin’s chest, sobbing against his shirt. “I’d rather live with this than forgetting that I lost her.”

“Then you won’t forget,” Jin says, stroking the ice-cold clavicle, he murmurs right on Miwa’s inky black hair, lips kissing the silky strands, “I won’t let them make you forget.”

“Don’t let them erase my memory,” Miwa chokes. Jin’s mind grows hazy with how much control Miwa is practically giving him.

“I swear to you, they won’t. I won’t let them touch you unless you want to.”

Miwa lets a mute beat passes between them before raising his head to meet Jin’s face, and the elder boy feels his own heart constrict at how many distress makes, themselves visible on the raven’s beautiful face. “Promise?”

If there was no prying eyes, if they are months older, Jin would plant a kiss so tender on his porcelain skin. The kiss would speak of vow, of conviction, of oath that Jin would protect this boy forever from any hands that mean to harm him. Even if it’s Jin’s own.

But now there are witnesses. But now, they’re still only four days in knowing each other. So Jin only rubs another comforting touch on his skin, and says, “I promise.”

Miwa smiles, tearful, sad; but thankful. His wet eyes are shining so bright Jin wonders if staring into them too much will make him blind one day. Maybe even if it does, the only thing he would regret is not being able to see that innocently alluring face anymore.

He pulls Miwa back to his embrace, shielding him from view – defending him from frightening world as he promised Miwa he would, and he speaks to everyone in the room.

At the time, he already knows that ‘Miwa’ will soon turn into ‘Shuuji’. And ‘Jin-san’ will changes into ‘Yuuichi-san’. He knows, but he tries not to think about it. Instead, he lets everything blurs until it is nothing but Miwa in his arms that remains in focus.

Jin sees in the future, as ephemeral as it is, his upcoming days with Miwa will one of the moments when he can truly feel happy. It’s short. It ends as soon as it starts. It’s time borrowed, and Jin is intent on making the most of it. For Miwa he will be good, for Miwa he will be true to himself.

For Miwa, who will accepts him, who will understands him, who is willing to see Jin in his lowest and delicate, Jin is willing to do everything, to offer his heart on silver platter for Miwa to take and turn, for Miwa to bend and shape to his will. Miwa can be artist and Jin is happy to be his clay. Miwa can be the writer and decides the words Jin say.

So, they decide not to erase Miwa’s memory, even if Jin can see how painful the choice is for Miwa’s parent. They had lost a child, and now they had to live knowing they, involuntarily, had let their remaining child live while relieving the same grief they had to suffer.

But they must love Miwa too; know they would lose another child if they insist on alleviating the painful memory from his already mangled heart. In the end, they only ask Miwa, who’s still hiding behind Jin as if the fifteen years old boy is the strongest fortress mankind had ever built , “are you sure this is what you want, Shuuji?”

Jin doesn’t need to hear to know Miwa’s answer.

“Yes, this is what I want.”

Hatred. Revenge. Strength. Suffering. But for as much as Miwa hurts, Jin mentally swears, he will heal. As much as Miwa loses, he will give.

As much as Miwa hates, he will love.

:::

Miwa – now Shuuji – follows after him, baby chick obedient, kitten-shy and adorable. He is still living in one of the room in Border headquarter where the refugees are taking temporary shelter until the rebuilding is at least fifty percent complete. Shuuji has planned to live in an apartment close to Border, already deciding to join but he has to wait until his wounds are completely healed. Until then, he has to remain – under Jin’s strict order – in his room, doing his best to recover, and only then Jin will take him out and teach him how to use Trigger.

Despite the obvious color of sadness that paints itself across the canvas that is Shuuji’s parent after hearing their son’s undeterred decision in enlisting as active agent, Miwa’s parent is surprisingly supportive. Case in point being finding Shuuji a room to rent where he can comfortably live alone without their constant supervision. Jin has promised them too that he will take care of their only remaining child, and Shuuji’s mother had actually cried on Jin’s shoulder, “please take care of Shuuji. He’s all we have left.”

Jin doesn’t mention anything about him hurting Shuuji in less than two years to come, but he says, “I promise,” anyways, because he had promised the same thing to Shuuji. And to himself; to keep Shuuji from harm, even if the said harm includes himself.

Shuuji still refuses to speak to anyone but him, that is, sadly, only until Kido-san comes into picture. Jin is consumed by jealously so putrid-hot when he sees the reverent way Shuuji looks at him, like Kido-san hangs the stars and the moon on the night sky for him.

The green-eyed monster living inside him, however, is easily pacified whenever Shuuji seeks for him, when Shuuji sends him short messages inquiring after him when Jin’s visit is late even by just five minutes. When Shuuji clings onto him, literally and figuratively, when night comes and he’s left defenseless from adamant nightmare. He’d curl into Jin, head tucked under Jin’s chin, fingers tightly clutching the brunette’s clothes it almost leave permanent wrinkle. Jin doesn’t mind, even if the position is uncomfortable, even if he wakes up with sore neck the morning after, even if he is left hardly breathing from the emotion that suffocates him – he doesn’t mind, he is happy, content, knowing that he is needed not for his side-effect but for being himself.

And maybe that’s why Jin finds Shuuji so dear, oxygen-irreplaceable. Shuuji depends on him, on helpless Jin Yuuichi who feasts on unhealthy snacks, and tend to sleep in, not on Jin Yuuichi who sees ten steps further and slays The Neighbor with clockwork precision.

Shuuji hangs on ‘Yuuichi-san’ who tucks him to sleep when the monster of his past hunts him like in a mission. Shuuji listens to ‘Yuuichi-san’ who teaches him how to activate and use his trigger. Shuuji talks to ‘Yuuichi-san’ who listens to him like Shuuji would do to him; with whole-hearted attention and sincere interest.

Shuuji sees ‘Yuuichi-san’ who sees him like Shuuji is the only daylight in his gloomy, obscured world, and sees Yuuichi-san in pretty much the same way. Shuuji doesn’t see ‘Yuuchi-san’ who sees what is yet to transpire and what possibility will expire.

Shuuji knows of Jin’s side-effect and he loathes it with intensity of burning sun , and for it, Jin lets himself fall even deeper to the exquisite abyss that is Miwa Shuuji. He _loves_ this boy, for a reason he knows world will never understand, and maybe he wouldn’t bother to find out why himself. Because nobody hates his side-effect, at least as far as he knows, he is the only person in their side who abhors this side-effect. And for Shuuji to identify with that, understanding why exactly Jin resents this ‘blessing’, is more than Jin could ever ask for.

“You are just a boy,” Miwa murmurs against the skin of Jin’s collarbones. It’s one of those rare night when neither of them can sleep, and Jin decides to sneak into Shuuji’s room – again, ignoring Kido and Rindou’s reprimanding – for a sliver of comfort. They would burrow themselves under the cover, holding tight on each other, and talk until sleep decides to lower their curtain on them. “And to let you shoulder such heavy burden yourself,” Shuuji scrunches up his face; brows wrinkling and lips pouting. “It’s not fair.” He finishes.

“I don’t know if anything was even ‘fair’ anymore,” Jin chuckles, thumbs rubbing a cathartic circle on the small of Shuuji’s back.

“You are fair,” Shuuji huffs, petulant, and not really meeting the point, but Jin lets him anyways. “You make your choice, for greater good of many.”

“Sometimes I can’t believe you forgive me for giving up your sister,” Jin breathes out without hesitation. Only gratitude, always gratitude for Shuuji’s ever so magnanimous heart.

Shuuji tenses up, but only temporary, because he melts back into Jin’s body like butter on a pan, like ice cream in hot, sweltering summer days. He mumbles, “My sister will do the same thing if she was you. I know, because my sister is the kindest person in the whole world,” a pause. Jin pulls him closer, an anchor, reassurance, Shuuji swallows, then, “she will understand, so I too, have to understand. Your choice. Your decision. It is done for greater good of many. To sacrifice that for my sister’s life is selfish.”

“You are allowed to be selfish, you know,” Jin points out, swallowing down the lump in his throat, trying to hide the thickness of his voice.

“There’s always time for selfishness,” is what Miwa says in return.

They are months older than when Shuuji starts opening up to him, so Jin kisses him, gentle and innocent on his crown, smiling with his heart out in the open. “You’re such a wonderful kid,” he says, voice dripping with honey-luscious adoration.

Shuuji’s grin is perky with hints of sleepiness on the edges. “My sister’ brother.” Jin hugs him closer, mentally thanking The God for giving Shuuji such unadulterated and virtuous heart.

Desperately he ignores the siren in his head, blaring and loud. Telling him Shuuji’s heart is not as untainted, his heart is not as wholesome – they’re still broken and far from being completely repaired. Jin doesn’t think, in all honesty and his own desperation to prove it otherwise, Shuuji’s heart will ever be entirely mended.

He and Shuuji is similar; different prepetator yet the same wound. When even his heart remained utterly unhealed, it is hypocrite of him to say Shuuji’s heart can be totally restored to how it was before Jin found him under that unforgiving rain.

When they met, Jin had planted a seed within him. But in what was probably just an hour prior, another seed had taken roots firm and solid in the beds of Shuuji’s heart. This ugly seed has sprouted, and once it blooms, it will eventually tear them apart.

“I’m so glad I met you, you know,” Jin says, pushing through sea of cacophonous noise in his ears.

When Shuuji answers, his voice is already heavy with sleep, “me too,” he mumbles, angling his head so his ear is not crushed against the hard bones of Jin’s clavicle. “Thank you for finding me, Yuuichi-san.”

The alarm gets louder. Jin refuses to hear. Refuses to acknowledge that for as much as he gains, he loses in the end.

:::

For Shuuji’s first birthday after Large Scale Invasion – his first birthday with Jin, Jin bakes him chocolate chip cookies. They eat it together at the rooftop after a sparring session together, sky dyed in purple and orange in the background. Twilight sky is beautiful but Jin pities them because the sunset in Shuuji’s eyes are always more breathtaking.

Shuuji talks animatedly about their earlier session; about the technique Jin used against him, about the blows he had managed to land on Jin. And only once the cookie runs out and the sky is completely dyed in color that resembles Shuuji’s fine hair, that the mood turns less perky and more somber. Wordlessly, they watch the whole Mikado City lits up, house after house switching on their light that they create a bed of star on the ground.

“My sister used to bake me cookies too,” Shuuji begins.

“They must be a lot better than mine,” Jin chuckles. Eyes fastened on the black-haired boy’s figure, admiring the softness of his jawlines that contrasts beautifully against his strong neck and defined collarbones.

“I miss her.”

Jin locks the stirring envy away in the most obscured corner in his heart, pretending it doesn’t exist at all, and says, “I’m sure you do.”

“She’s still here,” Shuuji continues, his splays his palm over his heart, tilting his head to Jin but eyes not quiet meeting. Jin is suddenly overcome with urge to seize that sad-looking face and kisses his weariness away. “Everytime reminding of what I had lost. It still hurts, but it’s okay. Because the pain of losing her reminds me that she’s real, she existed, and I-“

Shuuji falters, eyes glossing over, both from emotion and because he is purely lost, unable to find the right word to express himself. And just like all these times since Jin found him, he offers his hand – a guidance, given so unconditional with no restriction whatsoever. ”Know that I’m still capable of feeling, because I can still feel this pain, that I’m not numb?” Jin offers.

The younger boy nods, and for a while they’re quiet, again. Jin wonders if Shuuji is remembering his past twelve birthdays spent with his benevolent sister by his side, wonders if Shuuji thinks they’re better than this one he’s having this year. Immediately, he feels foolish for even thinking, the answer should be obvious already, of course any birthday is better than this one.

But just before the monster called self-doubt can dug its claw on Jin’s skin, Shuuji’s fingers find him first, resting shyly on his knee, eyes meeting Jin’s in shy yet certain glance, cheeks dusting pink, “you’re here too, you know.” He says quietly.

Jin stares, for the longest at time he just stares at the boy he had come to love so much. Apparently, his stare is unnerving enough that Shuuji squirms, face turning blotchy as his blush turns heavy. He scrambles for Jin’s hand, and, _oh_

“You are in here,” Shuuji repeats, voice shaky like baby-steps, in needs of guidance, in needs of care. He has placed Jin’s palm right on top of his chest, and covers it with his own smaller hand. Right beneath Jin’s digits he can feel it, heartbeat so strong and steady, a calming cadence, an orchestra of life.

Jin wants to ask Shuuji what he is implying. Is he implying that one day, if Jin left him – which, as much as Jin dies not do admit it, he _would_ – it will serves as reminder than Miwa can still feel regardless of how numb the pain has made his heart become? Is he implying that-

 “I will always be here, far or near,” Jin says instead, in place of his own virulent thought that’s rebelling to make itself known. He says in a tone that he knows compels Shuuji to look at him, and look at him Shuuji does, eyes glassy-carmine and bright with emotion Jin fears to identify. “I will always be here, just like you’re in mine.”

“You will,” Shuuji says, voice brimming with feeling that is always too much for his small body to contain. “I will never forget you are here.”

 _Don’t_ , Jin wants to say, but knowing what will happen soon, it is not his place to do so. He, after all, is the one leaving, not the one being left behind. “I won’t forget I’ve been there either.”

He fiddles with his fingers on Shuuji’s chest, twist it around so their hands are laced together. He smiles; the most true and honest smile, the one where he wears his heart on his sleeves and Shuuji doesn’t even have to search around to find what Jin is feeling; utter joy and pure gratitude. Loving and adoring.

“Thank you,” he says, _I’m sorry_ , his heart screams good bye.

And Shuuji smiles back, like sun making its way through the grey cloud – unobtrusive yet so defining, casting honey-gold beams of hope to sheltered ground. It’s beautiful, inexorably so. And Jin burns it to his retina, crave it in his heart, commit it to his memory. For soon, he won’t be in the receiving end of that compassionate delicacy.

:::

Their separation is ugly. Jin doesn’t even want to remember. But there is more tears – so much tears, albeit almost zero screaming. Shuuji is taking this way too calmly for someone Jin knows to be so humanely emotional.

“Traitor,” is all Shuuji says before he turns his back on Jin and walks away.

Literally. Figuratively. Methaporically.

Jin feels like the ground is caving under him. He still stands because that’s what he _sees_ he will do.

:::

Jin bids goodbye to those blissfully exultant days, and he would feel his heart giving up on him. When the aches become too much he will remember, that this is pain is a sign he is capable of feeling. That this loss is reminder that he once had had something – someone.

That despite so many die he had cast, regardless of how many sacrifices he had forced other people made, he is still human.

:::

Usually in the span of three years, wounded heart would heal, but Jin’s been broken for longer than five and it’s still nowhere close to how it was once before it first starts shattering. As he slashes down another neighbor – size ten times than his own – Jin realizes he doesn’t even remember when his heart cracked for the first time. With methodical accuracy he brings down another neighbor, avoiding the incoming one, and _will_ easily slaughter the rest that’s still in its way.

“The last of the day,” Jin huffs, flexing his knuckles before leaping off to finish his job for the day.

No more than three minutes later finds Jin standing on a mound of dead neighbor, sun-glasses perched on his head as he stares at the powder blue sky above, mind claimed by reminiscence, bone-deep solitude shaping his posture.

It’s been three years and autumn has starts claiming its territory, dying leaves red, and lowers the temperature. Damp morning is slowly being replaced by arid ones, wind has becoming less humid, and more chilling. Thick clothing has been pulled out from the bottom of the drawer, although Jin, most of the time in his Trio body out of convenience, barely does it. But everyone does, and just because he’s not doing it, doesn’t cease the incoming of fall at all.

It’s fall, and with fall, the sun sets faster, long day will soon be long gone, but before the sun starts to cease monopolizing the wide canvas that is sky, there will be Shuuji’s birthday.

“Seventeen years old, huh,” the brunette muses, a fond smile paints his face without his permission. How rude.

Clouds roll in, casting shadow over Jin, and the bleakness of it reminds Jin of the way Shuuji looks at him nowadays – not mocking, not pitiful. Hatred, but not quiet directly at his being; more specifically at his choice and what Jin chooses to stand for. Shuuji doesn’t hate him, never does and Jin knows will never would. For Jin is large sea of heartfelt compassion and endless understanding, accommodating acceptance. Acquiescent; or he was once, before Jin decides to leave the miniature garden they built together. But being less of what he used to doesn’t nullify that quality from him. Now, Shuuji is just a little less willing to trust, to open himself, but once he lets himself out in the open, he is agreeable, kind-hearted boy with too much sadness in his used to be expressive eyes.

It’s one of those days he keeps relieving over for it is of so much significance for him. Another one of those days he had vowed will never put behind him – amongst those kind of days was the first morning when he woke up _seeing_ something that’s not supposed to happen until six days later, Mogami-san’s _death_ , his mother’s. And that day when rain acted like cold, unforgiving chain that binds him and Shuuji together.

It’s one of those rare days he ever felt truly happy. Today, Jin will do anything just to feel such candidly raw happiness. Not that he is not happy now, but there’s substantial difference between when he was happy ‘back then’ and in the present. It was Jin being happy for himself, reveling himself in selfish delight of being understood and accepted. Unthinking. The most congenital way people seek to love and be loved in return to earn themselves a sliver of blissful state of mind.

Nowadays it’s all about being calculative, putting himself away from his mind as he scales the map – the future – and decides the next hundreds of step ahead. There is less ‘him’ in his reasoning, he is no more than bystander; outside looking in. Though lately it’s getting better, he’s not detached as before, he has people who look out for him and needing his eyes on them too, and they care about him, genuinely albeit in different way Shuuji did to him, but it’s affection nonetheless, and Jin is always grateful to have them watching over his back. Always indebted to their benign attention that he feels compelled to care about them just as much.

They’re his family, Jin wouldn’t trade them for anything else, even for what he and Shuuji had back then. It was love, but he didn’t dare to put a name on it because he knows those moments were beauteous, mortally ephemeral. It was smoke he chooses to cloak himself with, knowing one day it would dispel itself and integrates with thin air as if it never existed in the first place.

And in the years before, Jin never dreaded the day, but this year he lets himself be ‘normal’, to be able to fear the unknown for he’s yet to see anything pertaining to that day. He is continued to be left in the dark, and Jin welcomes the anxious jitter of not knowing thrumming under his skin, wears it like a cape and lets his steps falter when he steps out from his room.

It’s thrilling, fretfully exhilarating. His stomach lurches so much he ended up not finishing his breakfast, earning mix of worried and curious glances from his peers. Yuuma only looks at him funny, and Jin does say he’s ‘not okay’ when the white-haired boy inquired of his well-being, so he is not lying, and Yuuma, being Yuuma, is strangely satisfied with his answer.

“At least you acknowledge it,” he says around his rice.

Jin excuses himself early, leaving the tables first as he recounts his schedule for the day; guard-duty till afternoon, reporting to Headquarter, and, _oh_ , meeting. Meeting with the top brass and A-Class Team Captains, which means a meeting Shuuji will attend.

His steps grows impossibly heavy, and while he usually appreciates the heaviness of his heart that anchors him to the ground so he will never forget how helpless of human being he actually is, this time, they only adds more to his already existing distress, and he doesn’t applaud them. Still, Jin marches on, because for him who lives tomorrow three days prior, to be uninformed is expensive luxury.

To be ‘normal’ is gratifying tedium.

:::

Jin guesses prolonging his arrival to headquarter by taking purposely long lunch at the first _udon_ shop he sees is another epitome of his cowardice. Another sign of how unsettled he is in contrast to how he usually is. The _udon_ , with no offense to the middle-aged man who serves it, is bland, noodle too soggy he barely needs to chew. But it comes in large serving so it’s fulfilling, still, Jin wouldn’t recommend this to anyone, more so to Tachikawa who appraises _udon_ like it is the best thing ever invented on earth.

It’s also another evidence of his idiocy, because the first thing he learns upon arriving at the Headquarter is that, courtesy to ever so present and knowing Arashiyama, Miwa Shuuji is sick, has been running around with fever since a couple of days ago. “And now he’s down,” says Arashiyama, oblivious to Jin’s blues.

“And you know this from?” Jin inquires, chewing around his _bonchiage_ that fails to give him sufficient amount of pleasure it usually provides him.

“Tsukimi-kun,” but he is all-too-aware of his concern, because the next thing he does is looking at Jin with worry plastered all over  his beautifully-sculpted face, unbefitting to his handsome feature. “Are you okay?”

Jin says, “yes,” because Arashiyama – his best buddy Arashiyama – sees him in close way Shuuji had seen him. Not exactly the same, but it doesn’t stop him from seeing past the high-wall Jin sets around himself.

“He will be fine, Miwa is strong,” the A-5 captain tries to reassure him, giving Jin his sunshine smiles, attempting to paint his own optimism on Jin’s being. But Jin is a canvas too full already, with color bleaks and the only color he can bleed is out-of-oxygen red.

“And he is stubborn,” Jin’s smile is sardonic. Arashiyama doesn’t say anything anymore that touches the subject of Miwa Shuuji, he talks about another thing like the new recruits or his own team’s development.

And attending the meeting in Miwa’s place is Narasaka with his serene tone and pacifying green eyes. He begins by apologizing about his captain’s absence which overcomes Jin with sudden urge to slam anyone who dares making disparaging comment to the wall until their skull is caving in under their skin.

Nobody says anything but well-wishes, so no blood is shed.

Jin barely realizes he is shamelessly not making any contribution to the meeting – unless inquired – when he manages to chase after Narasaka, whose sniper-trained feet carries him faster than anyone else who had left the room even before him.

“Narasaka, wait,” Jin calls out, one hundred percent aware of his too-loudly beating heart.

The gaze Narasaka gives him would not deter him in any other days, but today, Jin is just like any other people who find those placidly composed eyes unnerving. He might or might have not squirm in his boots. “Yes, Jin-san?”

“Umm, Your captain – Shuuji, I heard he’s sick?”

Narasaka blinks, with startling awareness of surprised baby-fox, and unhidden surprise creeps into his impassive face, “you don’t know.”

A statement, not a question. Jin continues on, “I didn’t, I, just heard from Arashiyama this afternoon, and,” he wets his lips, because the way Narasaka is looking at him is actually making him queasy. He avoids those astonished green and meets the cold-gray wall instead, “is he okay?”

“He is been running with nasty cold since two days ago. He’s so crafty, our captain, manages to stay in his Trion body most of the time to avoid our suspicion, but yesterday, Tsukimi-san found out. She was livid, forced him to stay home. He texted us this morning telling us he’s down with fever.” the sniper says, voice not hiding his astoundment. “You didn’t _see_ this. “

“I didn’t _know_ ,” Jin steps away from the implication, but decides to meet Narasaka head on, regardless of how disconcerting his gazes are. “And that’s- so stupid. How- why didn’t-“

- _any of you take care of him? Any of you realize earlier?_ But it is not his place to criticize them when he was the one who let go of Shuuji’s frail hands all those years ago. He is the first person who had left a wound so deep and profound in Miwa Shuuji’s heart once upon a time and these people are the ones who’s currently tending to Shuuji’s tenderly bruised heart now, the people who heal the scar Jin has left upon the beauteous boy.

The reminder is so staggering that Jin is left looking at Narasaka like he has seen a ghost. But it is not a ghost – nor it is Narasaka, that causes anguish to mercilessly claim his feature. It is guilt, his own bone-deep remorse taking claim over his cells, running headlong in his veins.

“You know, our captain,” Narasaka says, soft and gentle, for he had seen the expression that crosses Jin’s face and dyes him in ugly color of repentance. “He is stubborn.”

The sniper turns away, Jin doesn’t stop him, too engulfed by the unforgiving rush of his self-reproach. But before he takes any step further, the young boy tilts his head aside, sneaking a glance at Jin from beneath his long bangs and lashes. Eyes speaking vividly of sympathy and understanding.

“But so are you, Jin-san. I guess, that makes the two of you.”

The first person who leaves the bleak corridor is not Narasaka. It’s Jin, whose fingers are digging around pocket of his jacket for an old key he used to stash at the back of his closet but for some inexplicable reason decides to carry around with him today.

:::

There are, in total, four keys to Miwa’s small apartment room. First one belongs to, of course, Shuuji, the next two to his landlord and parent respectively. The last one has been entrusted to Jin so many nights ago, in his small ‘hourse-warming’ party, attended only by Shuuji, his mother, and Jin. Jin had used it to sneak into his room when the clock had hit past midnight, when Shuuji was already asleep, but was still willing to be awake for a little while to scoot around and gave a space for Jin to sleep in. Also when Shuuji himself cannot sleep, time reads three in the morning, and he would call Jin, voice so small and helpless it’s almost swallowed by the wind.

After their fall-out, Shuuji had not asked Jin to return the key. And Jin, for the stupid reason called his selfishly cowardice one-sided feeling, refused to bring it up, and clings to it. The key is his treasure, one of the few relics of the days they spent together. He has it kept in the back of his closet, nestled inside a velvety black pouch he got from Usami (“Usami, what do you use to keep your important- um, jewelries?” he had asked. Thankfully, Usami didn’t pry and simply gave it to him).

Truthfully, he had almost forgotten about its existence until this morning, when the haunting thought of the crimson-eyed boy made him remember. Maybe the need of reassurance from his irrational fear was the final driving force that made him ended up carrying the key with him this morning. Or even if it wasn’t, whatever it is – be it the unfathomable mischief of the universe – Jin is glad he decided dug the key out from his closet.

Now he is standing right in front of Shuuji’s apartment door. The navy door is tall, imposing; looming over him like tower threatening to topple over and bury him under its unforgiving weight of rubble and concrete.  The key is already slotted in, but his fingers freeze suddenly, neck damp with sweat, and throat disgustingly parched.

Barge in, then what? Does Shuuji even accept him? What makes him think Shuuji will not retaliate and freak out in the first place?

What makes him think Shuuji will accept his help?

The fear comes back, grappling its sticky fingers around Jin’s feet and starts dragging him down. It leaves a hot, wet trail on Jin’s skin, toxic-burn. And the more Jin mules over it, the stronger their grip on him, the deeper their poison penetrates inside his body.

It is almost too much for his soul; his soul that’s already beaten down and battered. For he had loved, and he had lost, and it hurts, no matter how brave the front he put up – no matter how bright the smile he dons. For Shuuji sees right through him, straight into Jin’s marrow, sees the wounds, the ugly scab. Then it is because Shuuji can see him, he knows exactly what to do to hit the nails on the coffin; what hurts Jin the most. It is his rejection, his denial. Out in the open, Jin can pretend. But when it is only the two of them, and Jin has his heart worn on his sleeves, he doubts he can minimize the damage from showing so blatantly on his face.

How many times had he refused to listen to Jin? How many times had he denied what Jin told him? How many times; how many times had he hurt Jin, in a way that only he could ever know? And how many times had Jin hurt him, in a way that, too, is only privy to both of them?

How many times are they going to do this? Playing a game in which both parties are unwilling to step down from the game; not because they enjoy it, but because it is probably the only thing that’s keeping them together. The two of them are too wrapped up, consumed in each of their own misery, but still long to run head-long into each other’s embraces. But they can’t, not with their current circumstance – or maybe it’s just their ego keeping a tight leash around their neck.

Closing his eyes, Jin steels himself, then he prays, as he twists the key, that tonight –just for tonight until the night raises its curtain – they will stop the game; they will stop hurting each other.

 _Click_ , and he opens the door.

“Shuuji?” Jin calls out to the dark hallway that welcomes him, his voice quiet and unsure. There is no answer, and the worry settled in the pit of his stomach grows tenfold. “Excuse me,” he mumbles once again to the darkness then closes the door behind him, before walking to the direction where he remembers Shuuji’s bedroom is.

All the light is turned off and it is purely by muscle memory – and battle-honed instinct – that Jin manages to enters Shuuji’s room with no major injury. The bedroom is not lit but a beam of light is peeking through from between the crack of black curtain, falling over a figure curled under the heavy blanket. Jin’s heart crashes to the floor – awful and ugly, like the cough that is hacking up Shuuji’s already frail body.

Jin throws away caution to the wind, ignores the blaring alarm of _he will rejects you, he won’t accept you_! And if the alarm is his head, then this time is his heart speaking, after its long silence, his heart has seemingly finds its lost voice again;  _I don’t care, he is hurting, and for once, for once-_

Jin is not the one hurting him.

“Shuuji,” Jin approaches the bed, hovers awkwardly and he can only watch when Shuuji’s cough suddenly stops, he visibly tenses under the blanket. Even if Jin cannot see, he can almost make out the straight lines of his shoulders. Dropping the paper bag he’s been carrying on the bedside table, Jin finally bends down, and albeit hesitantly, he places his hand on Shuuji’s hair. Almost immediately, he shivers, skin singing from the blissful sensation of being able to touch him again. “It’s me, Jin. Are you awake?”

When Shuuji doesn’t respond right away, Jin assumes Shuuji is pretending to be asleep. Maybe, just like him, Shuuji is also scared of confrontation. However, just right when Jin is about to lift his head, Shuuji turns, so slightly but enough that he can actually see Jin who is lingering above him, brows creased with worry and face painted in color of both concern and anxiety.

“Shuuji?” His eyes are red, and just like the rest of his face – at least the part visible from beneath his soppy hair and equally black blanket – they are wet. Jin feels around his forehead, he curses upon finally touching him skin to skin because Shuuji is burning up really badly. “Fuck, you are so- have you drink any-“

But before Jin can quiet finish his words, Shuuji is already slapping his hand away. For all he intended it to be a hard smack, it comes as anything but. His hand ends up flopping down weakly to the bed, but his fiery glare makes up for it. His brows are pinched together, teeth white and openly bared. Jin readies himself.

“Shu-“

“Get out,” Shuuji glowers, weakly. So very weak and feeble that Jin itches to scoop him out from beneath that duvet and wrap himself around Shuuji, in hope that he can give even if only a little of his health to the younger boy. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Jin swallows around his words, fumbling to string together a sentence that won’t upset the boy. In the end, he knows regardless of what he said, there is small chance Shuuji won’t be any less upset than he already is now, so he decides to tackle on with the truth – in his eyes and in his words. “I heard you are sick, from Arashiyama, from Narasaka. I heard from Tsukimi-san, too. By the way, they came earlier this morning but you weren’t answering the door, and they are worried, so-“

“You came in their place instead?” Shuuji asks, voice accusing.

The rising bile in his throat is pushed down with so much effort. “No, I came because I want to. Because I’m worried,” he adds, half-distracted by the sudden flash of emotion in Shuuji’s glassy red eyes. “I can’t leave you alone, not when you’re like this.”

To his surprise, when Shuuji speaks again, his voice is level, sedated, and Jin wonders if it is his fever kicking in, “is that a pity?”

“Never,” he answers immediately. For too many things he feel for the younger boy, pity was never one of them. “I’m just worried. Am I not allowed to worry about you anymore?”

Shuuji closes his eyes as if keeping them open is task too arduous. Jin keeps their distance because even if Shuuji is visibly relaxing, it doesn’t mean he has quiet accept Jin’s presence in his bedroom yet. “Get out,” he repeats, weakly.

Feeling stubborn, Jin grinds out, “No.”

In response Shuuji groans, screwing his eyes shut and Jin belatedly realizes maybe it’s not only fever that’s ruining his body now, but also a horrible headache; one that Jin probably increases by folds by just being there and irritating the black-haired boy. He feels guilty, but he knows he will feel even more remorseful if he leaves as Shuuji has requested him to. “Ple-“

“I’m not leaving, not until your temperature is back to normal,” Jin declares, sitting on the edge of Shuuji’s bed without Shuuji’s permission – just like so many  times before, so many nights ago. “You can’t make me leave.”

Another groan, then, “I hate you.”

“You don’t,” Jin smiles, sardonic, accepting. Gingerly, he runs his head over Shuuji’s wet hair. The boy flinches but does nothing else, apparently, he has given up trying to make Jin leaves, no doubt because he barely has any energy left to keep his eyes from slipping shut.

“I do,” he insists.

Jin starts rubbing a circle on his temple. Shuuji fails spectacularly at hiding his contented sigh. “You hate my side-effect, not me.” He shuffles so he is sitting a little bit closer to Shuuji, his back hiding what he presumes to be his knees. “Have you eaten your medicine?”

“I hate you,” Shuuji repeats instead, and from the heat he keeps on radiating, Jin won’t be surprised if he’s delirious right now. He definitely needs a medicine. And sleep. A good sleep. “If my body’s not rebelling against me, I’d chase you out.”

“Yep, that’s why you need to drink your medicine. Have you eaten it?” The room is so dark that Jin barely makes up the outline of furniture. Even then, he is sure he is not seeing any sign of medicine, nor eating utensil. Only a half-filled glass of water on the bedside table. Jin swears, “you haven’t,  have you?”

“Don’t wanna wake up,” Jin murmurs, “it hurts.”

Once again, Jin swears. Shuuji is in so much pain right now, at least when he is not the one who causes the boy to hurt, Jin has confidence he can fix it. “Tsukimi-san made you a chicken and rice congee actually, can you eat them? Then you have to eat your medicine.”

The only thing resembling answer he receives is slight nod of Shuuji’s head. Jin wastes no time, quickly moving out to the kitchen to prepare the meal. He heats up the congee on ceramic pot he remembered had used to cook _nabe_ with before. He still remembers where Shuuji puts his bowls and spoon, the plates they bought together at 100 yen store are still sitting inside the drawer, welcoming him silently by their mute presence.

Jin stirs the congee and ignores the way the furniture is looking at him, watching him in their wordless judgement. When Jin decided to leave Shuuji, he had left this room too, and maybe if they could speak, they would be accusing him right now, cursing him from hurting their master, and blaming him for the constant scar he keeps on opening.

Honestly, he misses this room. Misses barging him cheerfully with grin so big that Shuuji feared it’s going to split his face in two. Misses coming back to this room with Shuuji waiting for him after a long day mission. Misses fooling around here in this kitchen while they prepare their breakfast. He misses, he longs; of things he had lost, for things he had voluntarily let slip away from his fingers.

And if he could, he would take it all back. Throw away his faith and duty just to keep Shuuji by his side. But even if Jin can _live_ the future, he couldn’t the past. A permanent fixture. Fortress unchanged. It will still be there, ugly reminder of another one from his mountain of mistakes. He had decided to let go, once, and that was it. What had stumbled out from his palm, he cannot retrieve, they’ve drift away, washed off shore, and Jin can only watch until it disappears beyond the thin line of horizon.

The congee bubbles over, snapping Jin away from his reverie. He turns off the stove and pours half of them to the bowl. Carefully, he carries it back to Shuuji’s room where the occupant is currently battling with his cough again. Jin puts the bowl down on the bedside table.

“Can you sit up?” He asks.

It is hard to differentiate between his coughing and nodding, but Shuuji manages to croak out a raspy ‘yes’ in between. Jin wraps his arm around Shuuji’s shoulder – anxious but is thankful when Shuuji, instead of flinching away, is leaning onto him – helps him sit up and props the pillows behind him. He lets Shuuji leans back on the once he’s done fluffing them.

Shuuji has his eyes half-closed, it is clear he just wants to go back to sleep where the dull-ache cannot reach him and he cannot feel the way his body is searing him alive, but is also clear that he knows his body needs the medicine and nutrition.  “Can you eat yourself, or,” Jin gulps, “do you need me to help you?”

Blearily, Shuuji looks at him, then flits his gaze back to his limp hands. He frowns at them as if blaming them for their helplessness, “I-“

“Nevermind, I will feed you.”

Shuuji glares at him. It is amazing how despite how weak he is, his glare doesn’t lessen in its intensity.

“What? You can’t eat yourself, right?” Jin points out, already gathering the bowl and the spoon. He situates it on his laps and scoops up some congee.

“I hate you,” he mumbles.

Jin blows the congee, “you will thank me later, trust me.”

He can almost hear the way Shuuji’s forehead twitches violently, “did you see it?”

“See what?” Jin asks, bringing the spoon to Shuuji’s mouth. “Open up, careful it’s still hot.”

Shuuji opens his lips but he doesn’t let Jin feed him just yet, “that I will thank you? That I’m sick?”

The brunette blinks, then he answers honestly. “No, I didn’t. In fact, I haven’t seen anything concerning you in the past four days or so.”

“Really?” Shuuji blinks back wetly at him, surprise evident both in his face and in his voice. He also opens up his mouth so Jin takes the chance to finally start feeding him.

“Nope, I didn’t see anything.”

After that, Shuuji doesn’t pursue the conversation anymore, so Jin lets it drop too. He continues to methodically feed the black-haired boy until he finishes everything. He helps Shuuji drinks his medicine, and once it’s done, he makes the bed once again and gets the boy settled in under the blanket. Eyelids already heavy and dropping shut.

“I’m going to wash up, okay?” Jin doesn’t wait for Shuuji’s answer and slips out the room with empty bowl and glass, but heart fulfilled.

:::

When he returns to the bedroom – fingers prune because he decided to wash every dishes Shuuji had left uncleaned for the past couple of days – Shuuji is already asleep, chest raising and falling in steady rhythm. There is an empty space on the edge of the bed, enough where he can stretches his legs while leaning on the headboard. He sits there, reminiscence of the past days where he used to do the same thing when Shuuji had fallen asleep earlier and he opted to stay awake a little bit more.

He remembers he used to watch Shuuji sleep back then, and now, he does the same thing. Drawing the outline of his skin and maps the new plane of his face. He has grown out of his baby fats and now, the once squish cheeks are hollow, the dark circle under his eyes are more prominent; sign of fatigue and growing up. His face is red from the fever, and Jin recalls the day when his face would heat up from embarrassment and joy instead. Those days felt so far away until yesterday, yet now, Jin can pretend they are somewhat closer.

Somewhere in between, he falls asleep. But he is soon awaken by the thrashing beside him. Shuuji is delirious, his consciousness slipping on and off. He keeps waking up here and then, sometimes surprised to know that Jin is here, sometimes he barely acknowledges him at all. And some other time he would yell at Jin with voice raw and raspy.

All those time, Jin has shushed him to sleep again, rubbing comforting circle on his back or temples. One particular time when Shuuji wakes up at one sixteen, he has to physically restrain Shuuji from thrashing and trying to kick Jin off from the bed.

By two twenty three in the morning, Shuuji has finally quieted down and his fever is considerably going down either. Jin is relieved but he’s still too wary to sleep, so he is back to watching Shuuji sleeps, stroking his hair in timely manner while reliving the memories he holds so dear of this precious boy.

Jin is recalling a particular moment when he taught Shuuji to use _kogetsu_ for the first time when Shuuji turns around, facing Jin instead of the wall, and blinks his eyes open. Watery red peeking from beneath sweat-clumped lashes. His quietness is the characteristic of the ‘not acknowledging Jin is here’, but the similarity stops when he eventually looks up and finds Jin’s ocean-blue eyes.

He drops his mouth opened ajar, eyes questioning and genuinely confused, “Yuuichi-san?”

Jin’s heart leaps up from his throat. “Shuuji?”

“It’s you, you came back,” Shuuji smiles, so darling, so genuine, it almost makes Jin weep. His fingers – his weak, undependable fingers clutch on the fabric of Jin’s pants. Tight. Grip of someone who had lost something so treasured before and fears losing once again. “I thought you’re leaving me,” then his face takes a one hundred and eighty degree turn when he says, “no. You left me.”

“I don’t,” Jin chokes out, he rests his own hand atop of Shuuji’s. Smiling and blinking through his tears, “I’m not leaving you, I will never-“

He stops, unable to continue his words, because, God, what a liar. He left Shuuji, he did, and even if figuratively he had given his heart up for Shuuji to take and carry, the fact that he had left Shuuji – for Tamakoma, for standing up for the cause he believes in – will never change. Tears start to prickle at his eyes as his guilt comes back haunting him, ferocious and relentless.

“You’re never leaving me,” Shuuji, to his astonishment, says. His eyes are distant, but smile is slipping back to his lovely face. He takes Jin’s hand in his – scalding, fever hot - and brings it under the cover, pulls it in until it’s-

If you ask him later, Jin wouldn’t even know what had kept him from crying because Shuuji’s smile is way too beautiful, sun-brilliant, and magnanimously tender. So much like the way he used to smile at Jin before; another reminder of his loss. Shuuji also has Jin’s palm resting over where his heart is – beating strong, beating sure; beating a magnificent aria of life.

“You are in here,” Shuuji eventually says, quietly. Happy. Expression blissful and grateful. “Far or near, you will always be here.”

Three years. It’s been three years without him. Three years since he last saw this heart-stoppingly kind smile being directed at him. Three years without Shuuji’s unconditional understanding. Three years since he last heard these exact words being spoken to, and he spoke himself.

Three years not knowing how to breathe without Shuuji to warm his frozen lungs. Three years he had prayed to The God he didn’t know he believed in to give him all the strength he needs to carry on.

Three years, and he had believed Shuuji already forgets this – these words, this promise.

Three years, Shuuji still remembers. Shuuji still keeps his promise – of not forgetting, of remembering that Jin is there, _always_ there in his heart.

“I-“ Jin tries again, scooping out his voice from beneath the falling rubble of his emotion. “I didn’t want to leave you. I don’t want to-“

“You did leave me,” Shuuji states, but there is no remorse not hatred behind those words. Just simple statement of fact. “And I resent you for that, but I promise- and you too, promise you will always be here. In here.”

Jin can feel the way Shuuji squeezes his fingers, entrapping his digits inside the confine of his furnace-like heat. “Am I?”

Shuuji blinks then, not quiet looking at Jin but somewhere beyond his shoulder. “When my sister died, she left a hole in my heart. Nobody can fill it back, she is irreplaceable, she’s valuable. She’s too precious to me, and losing her is too much. I,”

Jin patiently waits for him to continue, watching the way Shuuji scrunches up his face in concentration – or he is simply grimacing from his headache, Jin doesn’t know.

He trails his gaze back to Jin, “It’s hurting me so much; I don’t want to have another hole in my heart anymore. But then there you are. You came to me, I thought- I never thought you can fill that hole my sister left, never intent to make you do. Because if the hole is all filled up, I forget, I don’t- I can’t remember that I lost her.”

“You want to remember her,” Jin murmurs, thinking of how violent Shuuji’s reaction at the suggestion of memory wipe.

“And I want to remember you,” Shuuji follows right after, his eyes are meeting Jin’s with startling clarity of orange dusk after heavy rain. “Because you have opened up another hole within me, and I, I want to remember you. I don’t want to forget- I,” he blinks, “you promised.”

“I did, “ Jin affirms when color of doubt starts sketching itself on Shuuji’s feature. “Far or near, I will be in here. “

Reassured, but apparently question still unanswered, Shuuji asks the thousand dollar question. “Why?”

“Why?” Jin parrots.

Why, indeed. Why. He knows _why_. He just doesn’t know how to answer. Doesn’t know how to explain him-self without stumbling over his own words.

Why. It is simple, right? Because he loves him, because he doesn’t want to Shuuji to forget he loves him, and because he himself doesn’t want to forget that he is no different than any other human being – capable of loving and being loved in return. He is not as heartless, not as cruel, and not as omnipotent. He can see the future but he can still hurt, not by many things, but by mere simple words from this boy curled against him.

He loves Shuuji and he wants him to remember Jin, not as ‘Jin who sees the future’ but as ‘Jin Yuuichi’. So he made that promise, even if he knows he can never claim his love – not because he is afraid nobody would understand, he doesn’t care if no one gets the way he loves Shuuji – for all chains of apathetic circumstances keeping them torn apart from each other. He wants to be remembered, anyways, wants to be committed to Shuuji’s memory in the most reverent way he could remember someone.

“Because I,” Jin blinks his tears away, so desperate to speak as he wonders when did he become this weak; this cowardice. “Shuuji, I-“

Shuuji sees him, always sees through and beyond. He raises, sluggish and slow, and Jin has to help him to a position that resembles sitting even though he is still lying down. Jin slides lower so they’re in the same level, once again, their eyes meeting in unspoken conversation. “Please tell me this is a dream.”

Their face are so close now, Jin can feel the scorching heat radiating from Shuuji’s sweaty skin, he can almost count the exact number of his damp lashes. To be in such proximity is making Jin lightheaded. Shuuji is so close, the closets he has been since Jin cruelly severed the ties between them. When Jin speaks, his breath ghosts over Shuuji’s lips, “why does it matter?”

“Because if this is a dream, I can never do this,” Shuuji murmurs and then presses their lips together.

Jin is at loss for word but his vocabulary is straight robbed out from him when Shuuji presses their lips together. His eyes are blown open wide by then, Shuuji’s dry, too-warm lips sealed upon his own. It is a simple kiss, chaste, and tender. Innocent. Honest.

But it scares Jin. As much as this is what he has wanted to do, and this also affirms that his feeling is returned, it frightens him, brewing back the already calming storm of anxiety within him.

There are multitudes of reason and he cannot impossibly pick them apart one by one; because Shuuji kisses him, because something between them is bound to change after the kiss, but there is nothing they can do about it for the state of affair surrounding them. Even if Jin’s feeling is returned, in what he hopes is the same depth and intensity – the same passion and sincerity – _nothing_ can be changed between them right now.

Because he still cannot _see_ anything, and it terrifies like it always do whenever his side-effect decided to conveniently leave him at the time of need.

And because Shuuji is sick, God, this is like taking advantage of drunken man, there is possibility Shuuji won’t even remember this the next morning.

His mind screams at him to stop this, to detangle himself from Shuuji’s intoxicating heat but at the same time, his body is way too stunned, overcame with so many emotions at once to know which one he should act upon first.

 _Is this a dream_? He hears Shuuji’s voice at the back of his head and suddenly it becomes startlingly clear now why Shuuji has asked of this earlier. If this was dream, none of this would matter; if this was dream, they can pretend nothing has happened. If this was dream, Shuuji can forget, and he won’t be burdened by knowing he had kissed someone who stands at the opposite side of him in the war.

If this was dream, Shuuji can forget, but Jin will remember, can remember, and just like before, he will live with it, carry this memory so close and dear to his heart. Even if remembering this means remembering another thing he had voluntarily chosen to lost regardless of how much he is dying to have it. Another hole in his mutilated heart. Another blow to his shattered soul. Another pain, another sorrow.

Another reason, for him to put an end to their fight against neighbor, because the sooner it ends, the faster they can be together. Another cause, for him to march on and fighting for.

Another moment he will recall to bless him with even a tiny speck of happiness when the weight of the world come crashing down on him, when his feet are too battered to carry him on. Another moment that will put a smile on his face. Another moment that will remind him, when Jin feels like he does not deserve to be called human being for deciding someone’s life and death so easily as if he is the God, that he is, indeed, still human. Capable of feeling emotion, capable of being hurt when remembering what he could not have.

“This is a dream,” he murmurs against Shuuji’s heart-searing-warm lips. “This is a dream and you won’t remember when you wake up tomorrow.”

He feels those lips stretches into a smile, “good.”

Shuuji presses on, and Jin eventually resigns himself, melting under the pressure of his own emotion. Gently, he cradles that exquisite face, leans in, and kisses back. This time, it’s Shuuji who melts, under him into him. He lets Jin lies him flat on his back, his own fingers clutching at the back of Jin’s shirt. He lets Jin adores him, lets Jin worships him in all-too-gentle kisses. They eventually stop, when Jin can barely catch up with his surrounding and the maddening pace of his heart, and his breath. And,

“If this is a dream,” Shuuji mutters, sounding out of breath and raspier than he already was before.

“If this is a dream,” Jin echoes back, nipping another quick kiss. He grins when he feels the younger boy smiles.

“Can you hold me until I fall asleep?” He asks, so shy and timid, like he doesn’t think he deserve to ask for it. Jin hates it because Shuuji worths everything, if it wasn’t for their difference in principle, anything Shuuji asks him, he’d give.

“Of course,” he kisses Shuuji’s closes lids this time. “Just like before, hmm?”

Shuuji exhales, breath hot against Jin’s skin, “yeah, just like before.”

So, Jin complies. He slips in under the blanket; wrap it around him and Shuuji like protective cloak. Then he gathers Shuuji in his arms, tucking his head under his chin, and sighs upon feeling the boy back in his hold again after thinking he would never have this anymore. Shuuji still smells like cinnamon and vanilla, still smells like heartbreak and things unattainable. And Jin loves him just the same, will still do in years to come.

“Shuuji,” he calls out when Shuuji’s breathing is already starting to even out, a touch close to the saving grace of sleep.

“Mm?”

“Happy birthday.”

:::

While a part of him says it is wiser to leave before Shuuji wakes up, to further validate the ‘this is just a dream’ thing, for his own selfish reasoning, Jin stays. He trusts Shuuji’s fever-induced mind will categorize what happened between them at three in the morning – which he has made extra effort arranging the bed for to make as if nothing occurred – as a dream and nothing more.

He leaves the bed immediately after he wakes up, carefully detangling himself from Shuuji’s vice-like grip, makes the bed so anyone he sees won’t be able to tell that there were two bodies slept together on it instead of one.

Luckily, he doesn’t have guard duty until 12 in the afternoon, so he doesn’t have to make a call to notify his sudden unavailability, which will be scrutinized by ever so curious Rindou. And as much as he respects his boss, there are some things that he prefers to keep private.

Jin ends up cleaning Shuuji’s house, taking out trashes that Shuuji could not because of his sickness, considers cleaning the bathroom but it includes using up Shuuji’s water and he’s not sure whether Shuuji will appreciate it or not. After pondering for some time, which includes him sitting on the edge of the bath tub, he decides to clean it, saving Shuuji time and energy.

And that’s how Shuuji finds him, pants rolled up and hands clad in blue-rubber glove, the left hand holding the shower and the left a brush.

“You are really here,” Shuuji says, perplexed.

He is standing right by the door. His face is still pink but Jin has checked his temperature this morning, already down to 37.7 degree Celsius. Still a little bit warm but nothing worrying. “I am,” Jin admits. They stare at each other, the shower is still running, but Jin is too busy assessing Shuuji’s disheveled state, searching for any sign of remaining sickness and glad when he finds none, if him standing on his feet without leaning on the wall is any indication. “There’s some congee left in the pan. On the stove,” he tells him.

Shuuji blinks, slow and only then Jin notices his eyes are still a bit glassy – awake but unbelieving what he sees; Jin, cleaning his bathroom. Jin can almost see the old-film reel playing in Shuuji’s head, they had cleaned this bathroom together before, spending a large portion of it spraying water on each other instead of actually cleaning.

“Do you want me to heat it up for you?” Jin offers when it looks like Shuuji is not going to speak up anytime soon.

“Huh?”

Jin cannot help but cracks a grin, “congee. Tsukimi-san made it for you. Chicken and rice. You ate them last night.”

“Last night,” flash of recognition runs in his eyes, and for a moment, Jin fears the mention of last night will bring something he wants Shuuji to forget resurface. “I did. I remember. I guess I will-“ Shuuji frowns.

“Do you need me to heat it up for you?” He cuts in, desperate to end this conversation. He is worried continuing this will lead Shuuji to remember. Before waiting for Shuuji’s answer, Jin turns off the water, returns the shower, and without even looking at Shuuji’s direction, he steps out from the tub, fully intending to prepare the meal.

But Shuuji stops him, stepping aside so he is completely blocking the door. He raises one hand, and rests the other one on his temple, “no, it’s fine. I can do it. Heat up the congee. I, you-“ he motions to the bathtub, “the bathroom-“

“Okay,” Jin says, still warry but Shuuji is not lashing out on him, which is a good sign in its own. At least he is not reacting badly to having Jin in his house. “I will finish this as soon as I can, and you get eat your breakfast, okay?”

“The medicine,” Shuuji mumbles, looking at Jin genuinely questioning. No trace of hostility. No hint of antagonism.

Jin swallows, “on your bedside table.”

Nodding, Shuuji leaves the bathroom. Jins tares at the spot where he was standing on for a while, before he rolls his shoulder back and proceeds to continue his chore.

:::

When Jin is done, bathroom satisfyingly squeaky clean and spotless, Shuuji is already halfway into his congee. He eats alone in the table, so slow and quiet, not making any noise. Jin’s heart constricts at how lonely the image is, a jarring contrast to a couple of meal they had had together, not full of laughter but alive with conversation.

“Hey,” he calls, Shuuji looks away from his bowl to him. “Can I sit there?”

Jin gestures at the chair opposite Shuuji’s. The boy nods, returning his gaze back to his meal, “sure.”

This is awkward, Jin thinks once he’s settled. He supposes Shuuji won’t appreciate Jin watching him eat, but there is nothing he could do either. In the end, he just stares over Shuuji’s shoulder where the ceramic pan is still sitting on the stove. The silence then stretches until what seems to be infinite length, and is only broken when Shuuji, finishing the last bit of his breakfast, stammers, “umm.”

“Yes?” Jin answers, always immediate, always ready. A stripe of sunlight beams hope across the table.

“Thank you.” For all he tries to make it to be, there is nothing subtle from the way Shuuji avoids looking at any of Jin’s feature – from his awkwardly clasped hand on the table to his startled face. His carmine eyes are fixed, resolutely staring at the empty bowl in front of him.

All the while, Jin’s mind is clouded with questions; _thank you_ for what? For cleaning his bathroom? For washing his dishes? For helping to his meal? For coming at all? For-

“The cookies,” Shuuji hands him the answer. Jin jerks his head toward Shuuji, blue-eyes blown wider than they already are. “They, umm, I-thank you.” For Jin’s relief, Shuuji is as ineloquent as he is with words now, though Shuuji is lucky his voice is yet to give up on him.

“You ate them?” Jin inquires, still not believing his ears just yet.

“I did,” Shuuji nods, angling his head so slightly upward that although he is not quiet looking at Jin head on, his eyes can be seen peering up from beneath his black tresses. “Did you make them?”

“I-“ Jin falters. And his head he asnwers; _yes,_ he did make them.

He happened to have time two days ago when mission ended up faster than usual. His agitation of not seeing anything concerning a certain black haired boy has led his body to thrum with pent-up agitation. It just happened that Usami and Reiji-san came back right at that moment, grocery bags on each of their hands. And there were the perfect ingredients to bake the exact same chocolate chip cookies he had baked Shuuji for his birthday three years ago. Baking is cathartic; the routine of mixing and weighing the ingredients with exact precision magically calmed the turbulence brewing in his mind.

Jin ended up with four dozen batches of chocolate chip cookies; one went straight to Tamakoma residents stomach, one distributed evenly between Youtaro (Raijinmaru), Hyus, and Yuuma, one is kept inside a jar in his room, and one he had brought around with him yesterday together with the key to Shuuji’s room, and he had put them on the bedside table somewhere around two am in the morning after remembering he still had it inside the paper bag he used to carry Tsukimi’s congee.

“You like cookies,” Jin tries to explain himself, scratching his nape in nervous manner. “And it’s – was – your birthday, so I thought-“

“You didn’t do it last year,” Shuuji interjects, casting his eyes down back to the bowl. Jin’s heart floors to this stomach. “Why now?” He trails off, sounding genuinely confused and sad simultaneously.

“I don’t know,” Jin answers, not one hundred percent honest because he knew the reason why he didn’t do it all those years back were simply because his side-effect had shown him he’d not cross path with Miwa at all in his birthday.

“You said you didn’t see anything,” the raven murmurs. Shuuji is, once again, not trying to hide he avoids looking at him. His method this time including getting up, carrying the empty bowl with him and deposits it to the sink. Jin watches his back silently, waiting, while Shuuji opens the tap and lets jet of water pour over his bowl and spoon. “What about now?”

Under his skin is torturing itch to just wrap his arms around Shuuji’s hunched form. Around his very being are chains so heavy, so despondently restricting that keep him rooted to his chair, “still nothing.”

“I don’t,” Shuuji pauses, closing the tap and clutches the edge of silver sink. Jin doesn’t have to look at his face to know he is frowning. “This doesn’t mean I-“

“Forgive me?”

Shuuji shakes his head, hair falling all over his face. “No. I meant to say-“ so abruptly, Shuuji turns around to face him, to finally see Jin right in the eyes.

And it startles Jin because it’s like peering right into the mirror. Suddenly it becomes clear to him that he is not the only one who’s been tormented by this illogical fear, inexplicable worry. It works both ways, because in more ways Jin could count, he and Shuuji are similar. A pair of bird with their wings broken, refusing to fold their wings in purely for the sake of flying. For even if they can find the branch to rest, it’s never truly their home, the place they belong to is in the sky, the wide expanse of blue so encompassing.

Lost souls with bleeding heart that stubbornly insist to meander in the dark, because for them, who is not each other, is not light at all. Bleeding to death is better than being sewn back together by hands who are not each other at all.

Or maybe, it’s because they’re foolish, brainless, and masochists who love to feel the dull ache in their twisted bones, the pain that kills them but keeps reminding them that they’re alive.

It is so painstakingly clear that Jin feels shameful, for all the things he can see, he is certainly blind.

“This doesn’t change anything between us,” Jin says, offers him a hand for truce. “I’m not asking anything from you, Shuuji. It’s just me, looking after my junior, you know.” He shrugs, “The usual thing.”

Except it’s not, because if this was any other of his juniors, Jin wouldn’t make this much effort to make sure they had eaten their medicine and stay with them until their fever go down. Of course he wouldn’t clean their bathroom either. Of course, Shuuji knows this. “You’re such a-“

“Horrible liar? Trust me, I’m not, but when it comes to you I became embarrassingly honest,” he chuckles, rolling his shoulder back in attempt to lighten the conversation not just by the tone of his voice – his self-depreciating grin – and his gesture. “What can I say; you always bring the worst in me.”

 Jin knows this is a dangerous territory to thread on, any topic about their unspoken time together is. Must be scaled with utmost caution, alerted mind. Wrong word, and it can trigger all the wrong things. Both of them have been avoiding this like a plague in the past three years, but Jin’s action of impulsively visiting Shuuji yesterday has tipped the balance, shifted the gravity, and now, albeit both of them are scared, they’ve certainly become more adventurous than before, more brave, and daring. After all, it’s been three years, and despite everything, they have matured. Jin is nineteen, Shuuji is seventeen. Though they have certainly matured mentally faster than average kids, some part of them still remained childishly emotional, sensitively illogical.

He would have pursued it, if he isn’t as much as coward as he always is whenever it comes to Shuuji. Besides, there’s that ‘this-is-a-dream’ thing that he must avoid at any cost, so, Jin takes over the wheel and changes the trajectory of their conversation. Namely, by running away.

“I think I should leave,” he makes a point of proving his words by glancing at the black clock hanging above the flat screen TV mounted to the wall. “I have duty by 12, and I haven’t go home since yesterday meeting. I must-“ he sniffs at his armpit and makes a face – not a fake one, but a genuinely disgusted one because, yes, he does smell. “Clearly, I need a shower.”

Shuuji stares at him with pupils blown wide, mouth hanging open, baffled. “You- yesterday meeting? But it’s-“ the calculator inside his head dings with answer, “that was more than twelve hours ago.”

Jin purses his lips, “it ended around five, so I guess. Yeah, it’s eight twenty now.”

“You’ve been here that long?” If Jin strains his ears – if Jin is willing to read too much into things and remembers it’s not always a bad thing to do, he could hear the wonder in Shuuji’s voice.

But he doesn’t, for he is a coward, and seven out of ten, reading too much into things do not come with actual result. “I am. Which is why I should leave, need to get myself ready for the duty.” He stands up from his chair but doesn’t immediately leave, the combination of still not wanting to part from his requited-unrequited love (how complicated, Tachikawa-san is sure to get a headache if he know this), and wanting to gather himself for a while, not believing his feet to carry him steady like he is not bothered nor affected by this exchange. “I need to get my jacket.”

This time, it is Jin who refuses to meet Shuuji face to face, he quickly walks to Shuuji’s room but stops by the door, hand hovering awkwardly above the knob. He had barged in easily to any room in this house, but that was when Shuuji, the host, was unconscious and not capable of giving him consent. Now that Shuuji’s awake, Jin feels self-conscious.

“Umm,” he clears his throat, then as if asking to the mute door, he says, “Is it okay if I come in, or-“

“It’s fine,” Shuuji’s voice coming from the kitchen is quiet, almost unheard, but it’s strong enough to picks itself and reaches Jin’s ears. The brunette nods, mutters his thank you, and slips in, quickly retrieving his jacket – which he swore he had discarded carelessly by the leg of the bed, but is now folded neatly on the middle of the bed. His heart escalates in rate. He ignores it – and emerges out as soon as he comes in.

When he returns to the kitchen, he has his jacket slung across his shoulder. Shuuji is still standing by the sink, hips leaning on the counter behind, but instead of clutching the edge of the sink, his fingers are gripping his elbows. He is staring at the empty table with unreadable expression on his face until he realizes Jin has returned.

“Well, I think I will be leaving now,” Jin tells him. Startled, Shuuji jerks his head toward Jin’s direction, shoulders flinching.

“Yeah, I-,” he visibly swallows, “okay.”

Jin regards him with a nod, proper goodbye unspoken, then, “take care.”

Shuuji doesn’t go after him, doesn’t try to stop him, nor does he shows any attempt of seeing Jin off. Jin feels hurt at the place he didn’t know he could before, and he is almost completely out of the door when he hears rain of footsteps behind him. His leg foot is already outside of Shuuji’s apartment door when he suddenly feels a vice grip on the edge of his cotton t-shirt, fingers curling in the fabric so hard they could tear. He turns around, believing that he is ready – he is prepared with whatever Shuuji will throw his way – but all breath is knocks out of his lungs, windpipe closing in, when he comes face to face with Shuuji’s beauteous face, so close to his own that all Jin needs is dip his head and he can perfectly reenact what happened between them at three in the morning.

“Tell me,” Shuuji whispers, breathless. Red eyes searching Jin’s; scared, unsure, hesitant, but curious. And insistent, so persistent to find what he is seeking for. In a mission. A duty he must carry is to extract the answer to an unspoken question in his head, a question that Jin hopes he’d not ask in the first place.

“Tell you what?” he questions back in voice so strained it doesn’t resemble his own voice that he knows. Like hearing a stranger speaking using your mouth.

“Is it –“ Shuuji swallows, his clutch on Jin’s cloth loosens but his face, _god,_ they got closer and Jin has to grip on the door to balance himself or he’d topple over the shorter boy. “Was it-“

Shuuji, his dear, darling Shuuji. So precious, so lovely, so kind and scared. So afraid of being hurt. So wounded, so damaged, but not beyond repair in the way Jin is. So beautiful, charm unintentionally alluring. So confused, so lost and in need of guidance, but his loath for his own weakness – his weakness that had costed him the life of the most important person in his life – hinders him from accepting them. Shuuji will walks on, even if there will be people following him, he’d walk on alone, carrying his comrades but refusing to be carried by them. Supporting his friends but rejecting their support on him. Closing in but never opening up, never actually opening up after his first attempt of trying again left him with another caving hole in his already punctured heart.

So frightened, so determined to deny what has been offered unconditionally to him. So frantic to decline another perspective presented to him. So desperate to believe the path he decided to walk will lead him to utter peace of mind. So distracted by his terror and hatred to see what is in front of him; to accept and admit his own feeling.

So terrified yet so hopeful, because just like anyone who had been hurt before, what they truly want is to be healed. Jin understands this, for he has lived what Shuuji experienced, if not worse. And, he, too, is scared, frightened and terrorized the monster that is his anxious mind.

He knows what Shuuji wants to know, what clarification Shuuji asks of him, but he doesn’t want to answer him. Except that in front of Shuuji, he becomes painfully honest, forgetting his way around words to convince people and buy their trust. Because this is Shuuji, and Shuuji sees him like he is a transparent film-sheet. Jin is deer cornered; whatever answers his mouth comes up with, his eyes will give it away.

“A dream?” Shuuji breathes out.

He wishes, so desperately, for his side-effect to come and save him from this crisis.

And almost drops dead in relief when his mind does that annoying yet relieving flashes that shows- _okay,that’s definitely interesting._

Shuuji is still so close, still smells like cinnamon and vanilla yet mixed damp sweat. But he still smells good nonetheless and his eyes are so bright, so curious, so frightful, yet so brave. And for all spineless thing he had done, Jin owes Shuuji this one.

Gently, he tilts his head, dropping his lashes, and has to slightly bite the bottom of his lips to keep his face from breaking into a grin when he notices Shuuji’s eyes growing wide. He drops his jacket and using that hand, he parts Shuuji’s slick hair to reveal his skin, and right when Shuuji opens his mouth to speak again, he presses a kiss, tender yet sure, to the boy’s temple.

A gasp stumbles wordlessly from Shuuji’s lips. But he doesn’t shows any sign of rejection, doesn’t stop him, so Jin lets his lips linger there longer than necessary.

“I used to do this, didn’t I?” he mutters right on Shuuji’s skin, stroking the area beside his brow.

Shuuji is mute, and he is so still Jin is worried he is not breathing. But the urge to tease Shuuji – because Jin finally _sees_ what’s going to happen, and as much as he tends to loathe his side-effect, this time he actually appreciates it for the reassurance it gives him – takes over him, and with the same thumb he used to part Shuuji’s hair, he tilts Shuuji’s chin upward. And unlike last time, now, he is fully prepared.

“Did you miss me that much that you dreamed about it?” the corner of his lips curves into a crooked smile, enjoying the way Shuuji’s face is dyed crimson, this time not from fever, but from embarrassment. The carnal urge to just leans down and claims those luscious lips is there, but for now, Jin makes himself be contented by this view. It is rare to make Shuuji flustered from anything that is not indignation or anger these days.

When Jin’s thumb – unintentionally, he convinces himself – presses on the dip beneath Shuuji’s lips, the boy blinks like coming off from a trance and leaps back, fingers snapping hard closing on his temple. Mouth set into thin, grim line. Gold-speckled amber of eyes widening brilliantly, like sun, like the setting sky, carrying so many emotion and question, too much to be confined within but too abundant to be expressed.

“Well, I hope that answers you question,” Jin lets his hand fall to his side while he bends down to pick up his fallen jacket. Straightening up, this time, he properly wears the outerwear, slipping into them with practiced ease. “I’m leaving now,” he announces once he’s done redressing himself.

Shuuji is still standing frozen in the same spot, wearing the exact same bewildered and embarrassed expression.

Jin waits a little more, lingering awkwardly. His smirk has turned into a smug grin instead, not as cocky but enough to tick Shuuji’s nerves in usual basis. Eventually, Shuuji speaks, though his voice is wavering, either from anger at being teased or because he’s still shell-shocked from the turn of event.

“Yes.”

It’s short, but it’s enough. He has to play this off as something casual, something trivial. Do not take it seriously or Shuuji will think about it too much, and he will end up remembering what actually happened. Pretend, act like he is just teasing him. Ruffle his feathers, and Shuuji, ticked off, will shove the thought and suspicion to the back of his mind.

Another running away. Another cowardice thing to do. But this, just as how Jin always tells himself, is for the best of both of them.

“Well, I’ll be off, then. Take care!” he grins, no longer mocking but to infuriated Shuuji right now, it probably comes across as such.

Not bothering to wait for Shuuji’s reaction, Jin walks out completely from the apartment, and closes the door behind him.

This, he thinks, is for the best.

The wind blows, dry but slightly damp. Jin inhales them in, filling his lungs with as much oxygen as possible. He closes his eyes and smiles. The path before them is stretches long, goes as far as Jin can see. The roads are, as always, infinitely many. But one day, they will converge into one, and until they can reach that point, Jin will walks on, this time, carrying another dear memory in his heart.

This time, carrying another reason to keep fighting on.

:::

Had Jin stays, just a little while, a few seconds longer, he would have seen Shuuji crumples to the floor, hands still lingering on the spot where Jin had kissed him.

Not on his temple, but his lips. Dry and hot under his fingertips. His cheeks are almost as red as his eyes, too warm to the point Shuuji thinks his fever is coming back again.

Had Jin stays, just a little while, a few seconds longer, he would have heard Shuuji mumbles, “it’s not a dream.”

:::

Jin remembers the almost-glacial rain that beats down his already weary shoulders, it’s as if they’re asking him to stop; it’s as if they’re pleading him, a desperate plea for a break of his relentless steps. But his feet are just as vindictive as the torrential rain, so, Jin sees no reason to stop.

Not when he has a boy, no more older than thirteen, who deserves his compliance more than the unfeeling downpour.

The boy remembers too, the bone-chilling spears of rain that keeps on beating on his already slumped shoulders. The heavy rain that laughs mockingly at his powerlessness. The boy also remembers the way his heart had grown so cold, past the freezing point that he’s sure they’d shattered under the pressure. For a while that’s what the boy believed in, until Jin came, arms open and smile encompassing. Eyes accepting, and heart welcoming.

The boy remembers everything, from the euphoria of being so cared and loved, to the merciless pain of having his heart ripped apart and abandoned.

The boy remembers. Jin remembers. They know the will never forget for there will be no one quite like each other who can understand and accept their kind of misery. So they exchanged the promise, with sky dyed in the color of the boy’s eyes behind them, empty container of cookies between them – a picturesque scent that actually spoke more of heartbreak than felicity.

Their separation is ugly, agonizingly so that Jin didn’t even want to remember, but he does, doesn’t he? He had promised – he will remember, they will remember. So remember, they do. Revels in the pain it brings them, they do.

For as much as it torments their abused heart, it reminds them, they are alive, they are still capable of feeling. And they’re not alone; they have each other – that this pain, is something exclusive to both of them. That apart they might be, something is still keeping it together. Only then they can survive, for they had loved, had lost, and had hurt.

As long as they remember, of the place they belong to that they had find in each other, no matter how many blows they have to take, they will pull through, they will stand back up, and walk forward again. Until that point where they can be in the same page and walk the same path.

When one of them can say , “let’s go home.” Face to face. Eyes to eyes. Heart to heart.

When they can, instead of taking each other to where their comrades are waiting for them, they can take each other for themselves, somewhere far away, somewhere unreachable.

And hopes that there, they will have another memory to create and remember together.


End file.
